Tag: Joey Justice

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: numbers are sexy. Take the numbers 19, 26, 7 and 3. That’s the number of inches around Joey Nux-Justice’s upper arms, inches around his upper legs, times Joey bashes Ronnie’s back into a turnbuckle, and times I’ve gotten off on watching Joey and Ronnie pound it out in the ring for Wrestler4Hire.

Reaching for perfection

Of course, when I say “pound it out,” I’m referring to Joey tenderizing Ronnie like a stubborn cut of beef. “You think you have the perfect body,” Ronnie muses, arriving to find Joey measuring his bulges and shoving them in our faces. “Well, I think I’m the perfect wrestler,” Ronnie explains. “So how about we wrestle and figure out who’s perfect?” It’s a classic narcissist bodybuilder meets savvy pro heel scenario, with a sensational twist, namely that the bodybuilder beats the living fuck out of the veteran pro wrestler.

What gum chewing deserves

Both Joey and Ronnie get a little ire from me. One of my pet peeves is a wrestler chewing gum in a match, so I’m hating on Ronnie the moment he steps into the ring and starts gnawing on the wad in his mouth. It’s too casual. It feels disrespectful to the audience. It makes me want to see his opponent slap him so hard his gum flies out, then pick up up, shove it down the front of his trunks, and force the gum back down Ronnie’s throat on the tip of his cock. As far as I’m concerned, a wrestler chewing gum in the ring needs to suffer that much more bitterly for the faux pas.

Joey is all about the optics

On the other hand, there’s Joey, who persistently digs his wedgied trunks out from between his muscled ass cheeks throughout the match. This is less a matter of respect than it is just a stubborn refusal to satisfy an audience that wants to appreciate every nook and crevice of his gorgeous physique. I typically root against a wrestler, particularly a gorgeous specimen like Joey, who keeps stretching his trunks to cover up his cheeks.

Ronnie screams. A lot.

So I suppose I start the match a little ambivalent about who I want to get thrashed more. But that question is quickly resolved as Joey assertively grabs Ronnie by the wrist and flings his back crashing into a turnbuckle. Perhaps if Ronnie hadn’t been caught flat footed from the start, this would have been a more competitive match. I know for a fact Ronnie’s got more moves than MJ, and 9 days out of 10 he’s a devastating ring tactician. But Joey injures him early, and then often, and unlike 9 out of 10 rookies, Joey doesn’t relent for a second until Ronnie is screaming like a bitch and writhing at his feet.

All about the back

It’s mostly about breaking Ronnie’s back. The Irish whips corner to corner make Ronnie’s knees buckle out from under neath him. The body slams over and over and over again reduce the handsome pro to a quivering, screaming, drooling puddle. Bearhugs, torture racks, a camel clutch and Boston crab all concentrate every overpowering muscle on Joey on the task of fucking up Ronnie’s spine. The only thing missing, and don’t think I didn’t notice, is an OTK backbreaker to show off Ronnie’s hot, packed bulge.

“You have something to say to me?” Joey asks.

“Are you sure you wanna wrestle?” Joey asks, mostly rhetorically. He doesn’t really wait for an answer, even if he expected one. He’s come such a long way since his debut MDW match in which he tearfully confessed that “I don’t really wrestle, man.” He’s no Ronnie Pearl, but fuck, he does a sensational impression of an assertive, aggressive, confident muscle pro with something to prove. “You have something to say to me,” he demands, holding Ronnie by a fistful of hair and shouting in his whimpering face.

Ronnie dials it up to 11

The match feels like a solid intent to put Joey over. It’s all about Joey. It’s about his gorgeous muscles and power. It’s about his shocking dismantling of a seasoned pro. It’s about his cocky swagger and deafening gun show. If anything, Ronnie oversells his suffering, which is not nearly the mortal sin that underselling is. Either way, Ronnie gets reduced to impotence by a gorgeous hunk of a man bigger and, as it turns out, badder than he is. Joey never needs to plead, humiliatingly, “I don’t really wrestle, man,” anymore, which feels like the story arc of this match.

But as for me, I’m mostly infatuated with watching Ronnie. I’ve been entranced by him for years, since I first saw him climb into the ring with his long mane of curly locks, his smoking hot body, and an obvious feeling of being right at home in a pro wrestling ring. He has decidedly improved from that stellar starting point with age and experience. He has the best head of hair in wrestling, as far as I’m concerned (maybe that’ll be a year-end award for 2018). I’m skeptical of most beards on wrestlers, but there’s a classic Steve Reeves-does-Hercules look about Ronnie that makes me crush on him even more. His muscles are certainly not as huge as Joey’s. He’s not a competitive bodybuilder. But line Joey and Ronnie up and let me have 57 minutes to do what I want with their naked bodies, and no shit, I’m giving even stunning Joey a hard pass to get my hands on Ronnie.

I call dibs on that ass!

Ronnie’s absolute obliteration at the hands of the muscle-newbie shows off his smooth, gorgeously proportioned body from every angle. He twists and writhes, flexes and stretches, until the camera has treated us to a detailed inspection of pretty much everything one can see with Ronnie’s trunks still on his body. His ass, in particular, makes me push rewind often. There’s something effortlessly sexy and infinitely fuckable about his black clad ass cheeks that incite intrusive images of me pounding him doggie style, my hips wet-slapping into his beautiful butt.

Not where you expect to find a seasoned pro heel

The longer I enjoy homoerotic wrestling, the more I realize how much I enjoy these comeuppance moments when a terrifyingly destructive heel gets shocked, awed, and owned. The humiliation is that much more poignant. His screams and begging and sobs make my crotch twitch that much more persistently. “You have something to say to me,” Joey asks, getting up in the heel’s agony-twisted face. “You said you wanted to wrestle, right,” he taunts the crushed and helpless hottie, driving home the powerful plot point that a devastating pro heel is getting his fuckable ass handed to him because 1) it turns out overpowering muscles can be pretty useful, even on a ring rookie, and 2) gay wrestling fans like me want to see an invincible, straight-laced, handsome hunk like Ronnie witness his body and his illusions shatter before him.

I really wrestle, man!

In the end, even my skeptical self has to admit that Joey could actually be a player on the scene. He’s got some moves that a decently equipped opponent can sell solidly. He’s obviously got the pin-up boy angle entirely covered. Bring on more Joey.

Fuck, I love Ronnie in jeopardy!

But as for Ronnie Pearl, please, oh please, keep me guessing. My infatuation with him is only enhanced by the possibility that he could, on a given day, get the shit kicked out of him and get his gorgeous body pried apart and laid out like a Thanksgiving turkey. Or he could dazzle and destroy like a cruise missile. I love the suspense almost as much as I adore his quivering ass cheeks.

In MDW’s Oil Hunks 11, things are not what they seem. Well, some things are pretty self-evident. For example, Joey Justice is impossibly sexy. Fuck, look at that body. Tight, tanned, hugely muscled. The square jaw with thick, dark stubble makes Joey look like a muscled up Batman on vacation. He flexes proudly for the camera as Zach Altovito watches from the ring apron. “Aesthetics, baby,” Joey smirks with a sideways glance at Zach. Total eye candy? Of course Joey Justice is exactly that.

Joey squares off against Zach

And then there’s mountainous Zach. Holy fuck, look at the size of that? If Joey is a muscled up Batman, Zach is every ounce the Hulk with no CGI required. On the pretty-o-meter, Zach weighs in way behind dazzling leading man Joey. But for sheer magnetism, I have a hard time tearing my eyes off of Zach. Put them in a homoerotic line up, and I’d shock myself by kicking Joey to the curb for a a couple of hours with Zach and that bottle of baby oil in the corner of the ring.

Guns a-blazing

Joey is sure he’s got the superior muscle in the ring. He gloats over his jaw dropping physique. He brags about his superior power. The best 2 out of 3 armwrestling contest proves that Zach’s gargantuan guns put Joey to shame. “You got lucky, man,” Joey snarls bitterly, inexplicably, because that wasn’t luck, dude. You just got your pretty muscles owned.

The outcome of the test-of-strength/game-of-mercy is the same. Zach crushes Joey to his knees for the first score. “Where’s your strength at?” Zach taunts. Joey turns the tables to even things up. “I just needed to warm up,” Joey smirks and struts. The tie breaker is all Zach, almost instantly, total ownership.

Look at the quads on Zach!!!

“You come into my ring, flexing and posing, and now you’ve got nothing to show for it,” Zach snarls, vaguely pissed at the poser. “You have to wrestle to prove yourself,” Zach lays down the ultimatum. “Other than that, I’ve got no respect.”

Zach works up a sweat

They agree to oil stakes, which is sort of the first particularly sexy element to this match for me. I’m not fully convinced of the motivation, but they both agree to oil down the winner without any fuss. It’s just a bet. It’s not that they feel particularly emasculated by the thought of putting their oily hands on each other. I like the low key move on both hunks’ part.

After agreeing to wrestle, Zach asks Joey to show him that stunning double bicep pose again. A classic narcissist, Joey believes that he’s just that fucking gorgeous that Zach actually just wants to admire his muscles. He turns to the camera and strikes the pose. Zach drops to a knee and punches pretty Joey in the balls from behind.

The wrestling is concise, but intense. Zach’s reverse bearhug on Joey is lush. He throws him around the ring convincingly. He stomps on Joey’s legs as the square jawed, hypermasculine babyface writhes and whimpers like a bitch. “I’ve had enough!” Joey pleads, holding up his hands in surrender. “I don’t think you have,” Zach defies him, driving double fisted punches into Joey’s washboard abs over and over. He rides all over pretty Joey Justice. Pulling the pin up boy to the mat in a choke, he bears down on his windpipe, making Joey’s panic rise. “Tap out,” Zach demands. Joey does it, because he’s officially Zach’s bitch now.

The oil down is slower and more deliberate than it often is. Joey really rubs the oil in. When Zach demands he do touch up work on some missed spots on this biceps, Joey just reapplies another liberal coat. Fuck, Joey absolutely fades as Zach starts flexing those glistening muscles. God, Zach is the man. He instructs Joey to get the hell out of his ring, and like that bitch he is, Joey just does it.

But back to where this whole thing started. Things aren’t entirely what they seem. Joey spills the beans after Zach has fucking owned his ass in every form of physical competition. “You just got lucky,” Joey bitches again, “I don’t really wrestle, man.” On the one hand, I want Zach to open up another can of whoop ass on him for shattering the pretense that this is a wrestling match. But, on the other hand, there’s something oddly refreshing about just naming what’s been evident from the start. Pretense aside. Ignoring the art of kayfabe. I’m actually grooving on the oddly genuine moment of truth when, stripped of his dignity, Joey confesses that he’s a poser.

And suddenly in that moment, it occurs to me the other thing that isn’t quite what it seems about this match. Zach is a babyface. A gargantuan, superhumanly proportioned good guy. The premise is that he’s a heel, but everything about Zach screams an upright hero. Other than the blindsided punch to the balls. Though, even then, there’s something sort of right about that. But Zach’s domineering, contemptuous lines don’t have a ring of truth about him. I don’t actually believes that he loves crushing another man underfoot. I think he’s a little awkward about steamrolling all over Joey. No shit, I think Zach’s a heel poser!

Oil Hunks 11 is short on wrestling, and take Joey’s words to heart as a big ol’ buyer beware: Joey is no wrestler. You might think it’s a standard MDW heel-squashes-babyface match, but the twist here is that it’s a poser-on-poser beatdown. I’m probably loaded for about one more match of Joey getting trampled, if it takes longer and he cries a little more. But as for Zach, I’ve got a whole lot of fantasies that I’m aching to see more of, particularly if he brings a refreshing domineering, babyface bruiser angle to spice up the MDW formula.